


The Coldest Christmas

by Kdin



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Christmas, Hurt/Comfort, Illnesses, M/M, Pre-Serum
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-06
Updated: 2013-11-06
Packaged: 2017-12-31 15:41:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1033415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kdin/pseuds/Kdin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They didn't know it, but this was their last Christmas together, or just their last Christmas.<br/>In which Steve is sick and it's Christmas but there's no Christmas tree and no dinner at all. Each other is all they've ever had.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Coldest Christmas

They didn't know it, but this was their last Christmas together, or just their last Christmas.

It had been snowing since the day before, and they were kind of certain this was the coldest day they have ever experienced. Just a week ago Bucky had been fired from his already miserable job and Steve had found none yet.

So they were all alone and broke.

It was Christmas Eve and the noise of brushing teeth made Steve wake up. Rubbing his eyes he sat up slowly, feeling the dampness in his pajamas and the aching feeling in his whole body thanks to the fever he had.

"Bucky..?" he called out with a hoarse voice.

Bucky spat the mouthful of toothpaste and looked back at his sick friend. His eyes had dark circles around them, his cheekbones prominent and his pale skin made Steve scowl.

"Where are you going now?" Steve knew Bucky too well, but he had to ask, just to be sure.

"You need medical assistance, Steve. I'll go get the money we need..." Bucky said while adjusting his dusty scarf so it would cover his mouth and nose.

"I...," Steve always felt guilty when this happened; he just couldn't give anything back to Bucky, not because he didn't want to but because he just couldn't, he was too sickish and not to mention physically weak. "Please don't go. I've been through this, I can make it."

Bucky stood fixed, just turning the door handle What hurt the most? The fact that he would never be sure about Steve surviving the night when he was this sick, or the fact that he would never be able to pay themselves a decent living.

"I'm sorry, Steve," Bucky sighed and left without making eye contact.

Bucky preferred leaving Steve on his own for a couple hours than giving him no backup whatsoever. He went around the streets, offering himself to do any job they could give him, and it was Christmas Eve, that helped.

He got paid for doing some easy chores at the bakery shop, for washing the dishes at a diner, and he wouldn't talk about it but he also stole the money in the bucket of charity from the orphanage, the same that had provided Steve and himself a home.

It wasn't dark yet but the temperature was decreasing considerably. What Steve really needed was a doctor to visit him, but Bucky couldn't get enough money for that, so he hoped the medicines he usually bought would suffice. He hurried to the drug store and spent all his money on pills and cough syrup. He started running back to their apartment a bit scared (just as every time that Steve got sick) of not finding Steve alive. He knew it was a stupid thought but that never stopped him.

Steve rolled to his side when he heard the door opening, he smiled. Bucky was holding a small bag and his shoulders and head were covered in snow. He walked to the kitchen, which really was just a cupboard, an old stove and an aluminum sink, and filled a glass with water.

"Thank you," Steve muttered from his place. Bucky took out the pills and handed them to Steve along with the glass of water.

"Here...” He could feel Steve's heat irradiating, he placed a cold, heavy hand on his forehead while he swallowed the pills, and Steve leaned into the touch and closed his eyes.

Bucky smiled. "You know what?" He spoke up, "this will be last Christmas we spend this way." It was _spending_ , they didn't celebrate it. Celebrate what? That they've made it through a fraction of winter?  Christmas at the orphanage used to be less miserable, at least they had free cookies from the bakery shop.

"I know." Steve responded as he snuggled against Bucky's chest, sighing audibly.

"I'm serious." He ran a hand through Steve's clammy hair. "We'll get better," his voice got lower, Steve could hear his throat fighting off the tears, "you won't suffer like this anymore."

Steve looked up, brow furrowed. "I don't suffer, Bucky." He sat up and coughed inside the crook of his elbow. "We have each other," Bucky bit his lip and looked into his eyes. "And that's all I've ever needed."

Steve was certain, anyway, that one day they would live a better life, with a warmer bed and decent meals, maybe even hot showers. He knew this wouldn't last long.

Bucky looked at the window, the streets were covered in snow but that didn't stop the children from playing or the people from laughing and talking with loud voices about what they would be having for dinner and the presents they would be exchanging. His jaw clenched and he nodded, eyes hung on the window.

Steve curled up to his side, his limbs were made sharp and trembling edges of bone, he shut his eyes and tried to focus on passing out or whatever would make the shivers go away. His stomach growled silently and Bucky finally looked back at him. He walked to the kitchen in silence and opened the cupboard praying to some non-existing god to find whatever edible thing it wanted.

There was a half-finished box of _Kix_ cereal and a can of dehydrated potato shreds. Bucky sighed and closed the cupboard. He wasn't even hungry and Steve was asleep already. He looked around, the sunlight was gone and he could only see the silhouettes of a bed and the boy that meant the whole world to him lying in it.

He walked to him, sitting in his usual spot in the bed, eventually lying down. He only remembered one good Christmas. His father was still alive and though he was an asshole that day had been different and even weird. They had turkey for dinner, _turkey!_ It felt too good to ever happen again.

Bucky even got a gift from Santa, a small wooden car that had been _oh-so-special_ to him. Now he didn't recall where he last saw it, perhaps he lost it in the orphanage and another kid had found it. He didn't care.

Bucky grabbed Steve's slim arm and gently turned his body around so he could big spoon his sick friend. They would sleep like that every night since they were kids.

 

The neighbors started making noise all of sudden, the record player created melodic muffled sounds that could be overheard the voices.

Bucky planted a tender kiss on Steve's neck, taking his time to breathe in his sweet scent. Bucky's humid lips sent shivers to Steve's spine, it was pleasant. They didn't move anymore, the heat between them was just enough for them to feel alright despite the crudeness of winter. They fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.

A placid sensation brought Bucky back from unconsciousness into a small kiss that Steve was kindly offering him. Bucky's eyes fluttered closed again, his lips parted just a bit for the kiss to deepen, their tongues made contact for a moment before the contact was broken.

"Merry Christmas, Bucky."

 

After that Bucky realized why he would go to war: he wanted to give everything to Steve, he realized he would die for him. 

And eventually, he did. 


End file.
